


Of Men and Mer

by Bluskyy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: DLC Spoilers, Everyone Is An Asshole, F/M, M/M, Multi, This entire thing will be rewritten, try and convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluskyy/pseuds/Bluskyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Faendal first agreed to follow the Dragonborn 'to the ends of the earth', he didn't think that meant literally.</p><p>**********<br/>Currently under serious editing and revision. Read at own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So . . . I see you have found this little tidbit of trash on this godforsaken site.  
> Congratulations.  
> Really.  
> Good job.
> 
> You will (or should anyway) be happy to know that I am actually in the process of rewriting this entire story. So. Go ahead, read on. This will actually stay up, but this particular story won't be updated any longer, but the new version will be posted . . . soon. Not sure when. But that one's going to be LOADS better than this one. So stay tuned.

“Your follower cannot accompany you here.”

Mercer Frey’s words cut through Faendal like a knife. He looked to his companion; surely he wouldn’t be expected to remain behind like some poorly paid hold guard.

She just smiled. That same smile that disarmed guards, put children at ease, comforted mourning mothers . . . It spoke of a nearly unrealistic hope, a promise that everything was going to be okay.

“It’s alright,” Joi said, her maroon eyes warm, assuaging his fears, if only for a short time. 

“But—“ he protested, Joi interrupted, her eyes commanding him to stay.

“—I have Mercer with me,” she said confidently. “We’ll be fine. Besides, we’re only going in to get Karliah. Stay out here and guard our backs, make sure nothing sneaks up on us.” He gave her a weak smile, knowing she only said that so he wouldn’t worry . . . he would, regardless.

That was the difference between them: Joi trusted Mercer, he did not. Faendal wouldn't trust that man to give him a drink of water in the desert unless there would be something in it for the Breton.

“You go on ahead,” Faendal said, shifting on one foot, hoping he disguised his anxiety well enough. Like always, Joi saw through it.

“Hey,”she reached for him, gloved hands resting against his arms in a loose, comforting embrace. “I’ll be fine. I don’t plan on dying today—or any day soon. Relax; I’ll be back before daybreak.”

Faendal wasn’t convinced. “What if you need me in there?” he asked, remembering the time Joi had gotten herself backed into a corner surrounded by a half dozen draugr. More than once. She was an astounding warrior, but even she needed help some times.

Joi pulled something out of her pack and handed it to him. “The—the Axe of Whiterun?” he breathed, his eyes widening as his long, calloused fingers closed around the hilt, the green light of the axe's enchantment dancing beneath his hands. “But this is—”

He tried to give it back, unable to accept such a gift, but Joi pushed it back, her smile widening.

“A little motivation to come back,” she said, eyes crinkling like they always did when she was trying to convince him not to worry about her when she would be going somewhere that was really dangerous. He couldn't say he knew her very well, the Dragonborn was full of secrets—some of which were probably more dangerous than he wanted to know—but he knew Joi trusted him and relaxed around him . . . well, at least as much as she actually allowed herself to relax. And for that, he tried to live up to her expectations. It wasn't every day he was able to accompany a living legend.

“I’ve got Dawnbreaker,” Joi confidently told him. “Those draugr won’t know what hit them.” She patted the sheathed sword at her side, a slight glow emanating from the handle, a gift from the daedra, Meridia, for cleansing her temple of the necromancer, Malkoran.

Mercer cleared his throat impatiently. “This is touching, really,” he drawled in his deep, Breton baritone, half rolling his eyes. “But we need to move now. If I know Karliah, she's probably set up more traps than I would care to mention, but, other than that, we're going in blind.”

“You’re right,” Joi said, following Mercer to the door. She turned back once more toward Faendal. “Take good care of that Axe, you hear? I’ll need it when I get back.”

“You'll be back by dawn?” he asked hopefully.

“By dawn,” Joi confirmed. Mercer cleared his throat, making her flinch. “Right, sorry. Finish the job first,” she amended. Mercer gave her a stern look and scoffed, he stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Joi blushed and hurried after him.

Faendal gritted his teeth. Joi was trying too hard to impress Mercer, even going so far as to accompany him into an unknown barrow, alone.

“I'll be back before you can miss me,” she called over her shoulder, then the door slammed shut and Faendal was left alone with nothing but the Axe in his hands and the howling wind at his back. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, a gut feeling telling him it had been a mistake to let her go.

He missed her already . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faendal sent a silent prayer to any gods who were listening--Talos or otherwise, Daedra even, he didn't care anymore--to keep Joi safe. He let out a wry half-smile.
> 
> The gods would have their work cut out for them.

What in Divines’ name is she thinking? Faendal thought for the hundredth time, pacing back and forth in the circular tomb. Several times he nearly opened the door to head after them, only to find it locked again. 

That should have been the first sign that something was off.  
______________________

Faendal sat in the shelter of Karliah's camp, staring into the flames, much like Joi liked to do on the rare occasion they weren’t on some farfetched quest. Faendal liked to watch the Dunmer think; unlike most women he knew—even Camilla, he admitted reluctantly—Joi’s mind was as sharp as her blade. 

Faendal’s hand drifted to the Axe, resting on its hilt. As a personal gift from Jarl Balgruuf when Joi was made Thane, the Axe of Whiterun was nearly priceless. Joi loved the weight and power behind its attacks. But against a draugr—and there would be plenty in these Nordic ruins—Dawnbreaker would be of much more help, it slid through the air much faster than any mortal blade and was more powerful against undead. Unfortunately, draugr fell into that category; which was weird considering they had never actually 'died'. 

Sighing, Faendal rested his head on his hands, feeling the beginning of a headache.

He sent a silent prayer to any gods who were listening—Talos or otherwise, Daedra even, he didn’t care anymore—to keep Joi safe.

He let out a wry half-smile: the gods would have their work cut out for them.

It was going to be a long night . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously, I actually like getting feedback on anything I write; for me, there is no better way to improve than by criticism.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting impatient, Faendal began drumming his fingers on his knee. After three months of traveling with the Dragonborn, he had gotten used to the nearly constant rush of adrenaline, and he missed it sorely. It was different than their nights spent at a tavern. Now, he knew Joi was probably in the heat of battle while he waited outside like that insufferable dog she insisted on leaving around the house to keep the equally as rebarbative housecarl company. Faendal growled in irritation: he was definitely NOT Meeko . . . or Lydia for that matter.

After ten minutes, the silence was deafening. He wished for something—anything to break the tension. His wish was granted a few moments later as one Skyrim’s infamous blizzards swept through.

Not exactly what I was thinking, he grumbled, throwing more wood on the fire and, reaching into his pack for a bear pelt to keep warm, his fingers brushed against an official looking letter, which he pointedly ignored. Now, there was nothing else he could do but wait. So he did.

Faendal waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited . . . 

As the blizzard began to die down, he saw the faint light of dawn breaking over the horizon with muted colors of orange and pink. His heart twisted in worry: Joi still hadn't returned.

Then he heard the faintest creak of an opening door. Without wasting a moment, Faendal was up and running back to the crypt’s entrance. He felt a rush of disappointment when he saw Mercer ascending the stone stairs. Alone.

“Where’s Joi?” Faendal demanded, eyes searching suspiciously behind the Breton, waiting for Joi to emerge from the gloom. But she didn't. She couldn't.

Mercer paused for a moment, his eyes flashing with . . . what was that?—anger?—grief? Then he said gruffly, “She’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I said I was sorry for a cliff-hanger, would you believe me?


	4. Chapter 4

Time seemed to slow; the ground no longer seemed solid; the world spun.

“No—“ Faendal reeled back in shock. “H—How?” he managed to choke out.

“Karliah had set an ambush. Shot her before she could take more than a few steps into the sanctuary. Died before I could heal her.”

“And—and Karliah?”

“Disappeared before I could kill her,” Mercer said. “Took an invisibility potion and ran, the coward.” He spat at the ground in spite.

Faendal felt a second headache coming on. Joi. Dead. It couldn’t be true. But the look in Mercer’s eyes told him it was . . .

Joi really was . . . dead.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad to see she had such loyal friends,” Mercer said tenderly, but the words sounded strange coming from his mouth. False even. “She’ll be waiting for you in Sovengarde.”

Faendal didn’t bother to correct him. Bosmer—or Dunmer for that matter—didn’t believe in Sovengarde, the Nordic heaven where the greatest of their warriors drank in Shor's mead hall, but Joi deserved the best, even in the afterlife; instead, he nodded listlessly.

Mercer clapped him on the shoulder and headed off in the general direction of Riften without a backwards glance. Faendal watched him go blankly, an odd sense of loss eating at his chest.  
_______________________

Faendal stood there, staring at the doorway where he had last seen Joi. With her gone, would he just head back to the mill in Riverwood? It would be impossible to pick up the pieces of his old life, even if he tried. He wouldn't be able to leave that behind again. What would he do? 

What could he do?

A stone door slid open behind him; he had an arrow nocked and ready to fly before he recognized the figure being supported—almost dragged—by the other Dunmer, a crimson stain rapidly growing from her abdomen, spilling onto the stones below. His heart skipped a beat.

Joi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is the farthest I've posted. I have several chapters written, but they're part of the original. I'm currently in the middle of rewriting the entire thing, but I'm going to leave this one up until I've completed the rewrite.


End file.
